How This Works
by Grac3
Summary: He didn't expect to find himself alone with her. But when he does, he knows exactly how it will end. Arc tag: Post-Battle City Part 2/Pre-Waking the Dragons. Tempestuous Trustshipping. See warnings inside.


**Warnings: kissing, sexual references, references to child abuse**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!**

* * *

He reached the bottom of the staircase, stopping when he saw her.

He was weighing up his options; could he retreat now and still get away with it?

"Don't bother trying to leave," she warned him. "You had a purpose in coming here. Do not let my presence keep you from it."

Biting his tongue to stop himself from making some kind of remark, he steeled himself. There was no way that he was going to let her get the upper hand.

His shoes clapped loudly on the floor as he made his way over to her. He didn't break his stride until he was standing next to her, her emotionless expression in his peripheral vision and – hopefully – his in hers.

He stared straight ahead at the stone on the wall, taking in its lines and pictures and carvings, as though he hadn't memorised them all already.

He had been planning this for some time: coming here to study the actual object for himself. He had planned on having the place to himself. But _she_ was here, and they were alone together for the first time since the last time, and he knew how it would end, because he knew how this worked.

He snarled. He turned his head towards her, looking down his nose at her.

"What are you doing here?"

She smirked. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked first," he growled.

"You forget that this collection still belongs to me. I have every reason to be here, no matter what the hour. Now, tell me, what business have you here?"

He ground his teeth together, until the pain in his jaw became too much. With each second that he didn't say anything, her smugness increased and, in return, his irritation.

"You know why I'm here," he growled, snapping his head around to stare up at the tablet so he didn't have to look at her.

She laughed, the noise grating on his already fraught nerves.

"Are you coming to accept your destiny, Seto?"

His fingers twitched at his sides.

"You don't get to call me that."

Not here. That wasn't how this worked.

"Why? You prefer a name that isn't even yours? That you inherited from a man you had to fight every day for the sake of your brother?"

The reminder felt like a punch to his chest. "How do you know about that?" he demanded, his eyes wide and his breathing ragged. He still didn't look at her.

"You may avoid me as much as possible, but there is someone else who knows the whole story. Someone who is not so closed off as you. Someone who trusts me infinitely more than you do."

It felt as though a lead weight had dropped into his stomach.

"Mokuba."

He took her silence as confirmation.

"When?" he demanded.

"On your blimp," she answered simply. "We did wonder where you'd all gone."

The shock wore off abruptly as he saw his chance to take revenge.

"Is that how you spent your time? Instead of watching over Bakura, you were… worrying about me?"

He could find it in him now to turn towards her, a smirk playing on his lips.

It slipped a little when he saw that her face was as emotionless as it had been a minute ago.

She chuckled. "You know that's not how this works," she responded smoothly, looking up at him, her eyes glittering.

"Oh?" he asked, stepping around to face her fully. "Then how does this work?"

Her eyes dropped for a moment, slipping for a mere second to his lips before she looked back up into his eyes. Reaching up to his collar with one hand, she curled her fingers around the white material and brought his head down, kissing him lightly, softly: deliberately making him angry.

He growled, pulling back. He wrapped his thin fingers around her wrist and tore her hand away, holding it out to the side.

She looked up at him triumphantly. His lips curled back into a sneer.

It only took a moment before they were on the other side of the room, and he was slamming her back against the wall next to the tablet. He kissed her roughly, one hand curled into her hair and the other resting on her hip. She reached up, placing her hand on the back of his neck to keep him in place, but they both knew that once they reached this stage, he wasn't going anywhere.

Because that was how this worked: with a fight, and then the two of them ensconced somewhere completely and utterly alone.

And then with them just lying there, pretending that someday it would be more than it was right now; more than just arguments and heated fumbles in the dark and desperate cries for _more_.

And then, when they had to – and not a moment before, never a moment before – they would leave, going in opposite directions.

Pretending that it would never happen again.


End file.
